


Nehraa Kadan

by MsLanna



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:33:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLanna/pseuds/MsLanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another drabble dump. Because Bioware is less than acommodating when it comes to my Love Interest of choice.<br/>Quality may vary as I am just getting stuff out of my system here.<br/>No connection between the stories except if you want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Is Your Wish, Kadan?

It wasn't much. In this complicated world without rest, what she really wanted was so easy. Small and in comparison it seemed so unimportant. Who had ever the time to slow down and look at the desires of a single person when the world was at stake?

She. That was who. Night after night when she laid down, there was a short time when the thoughts caught up with her. What did she want? And time and again she came to the result that it wasn't fair. That the universe should slow down, if only for a heartbeat, to grant her that one moment of happiness.

Naturally, the universe disagreed.

And then she was afflicted with a team like hers. The noble Templar, the wicked witch, the seductive assassin, the seemingly innocent acolyte, the wise teacher. Who had ever thought that up? Add two walking rocks and a dog and there you had it.

“I wish you hadn't killed those farmers.”

“So do I, kadan.”

It was like a magic word to make her forget all else. What were those lives in comparison? She could look forward to quite a reckoning once she died. Those souls would be wildly unhappy with her not only saving Sten, but helping him every step along the way. Hell, she had put him in the armour of a Warden Commander. That Alistair let it slip...

But he did. Nobody seemed to question her except for Sten. He didn't hold back if he was doubting her decisions. Twice now he had openly questioned her leadership. And while she was grateful that everybody was standing behind her, she was also grateful for his challenges.

Who was she to decide the path Ferelden was taking? Who was she to guide the fate of them all? Nothing but a recruit, a newcomer thrown into a fray she didn't understand. A nobody doing her best. But who had ever wondered if her best was good enough?

Sten had.

And for that alone she loved him. If she needed any other reason. There was no reason. There was only Sten. And he didn't care.

No. Now she was being unfair. He did care as he knew. The Qunari society was working so very differently that it was a small miracle he got along at all. She would have envied the arishok had Sten not decided to end the Blight before returning home with that very message. Of course it made defeating the Blight and slaying the arch demon another double edged sword.

But what was another of those? She had made kings and decided age old wars. Werewolves, people, elves. It had been her decision. Blood magic, mages, Templars. Another decision she was centuries too young to make.

But nobody cared about that. So she wouldn't, or at least as little as she could. She would take her conscience and run with it. And if anybody disagreed, they were welcome to take her place. She didn't want to be a hero. But if that was what it took to save Ferelden, then she would bloody well be a hero.

Nobody was saying she had to be a hero all on her own though. It was nice to see how people agreed on this. So she would take shameless advantage of it. Even if she took sides unexpected and undesired. If she was to carry the weight of the world, she would. But she would take respite where she could.

The arms of a Qunari might be strange and unforeseen place. But they were also strong and a safe haven for those they cared about.

“What is your wish, kadan?”

She looked into those purple eyes. What indeed? But there was nothing to lose. She took a step closer, right into his personal space. If she was close to his heart, in whichever way, there was no reason she shouldn’t be close to his heart physically as well. A smile flitted across her face. She would never reach his heart with anything but the top of her head.

“If you have a moment,” she said, looking up, “or maybe two, if possible.”

“Of course.”

Sometimes when he spoke, he seemed to smile. But whenever his lips closed, they settled into that grim expression carved out of his very being. Being a warrior of the antaam might be a reason. What he had related of that had not been very comforting. But then nothing he had told about his people had been very relatable.

Still. How many people had despaired in the pursuit of happiness and found contentment in duty? It wasn't such an odd concept.

“Lend me the strength of your arms for a moment.” The words were shaking in their syntax but her eyes were firm. As was the embrace that walled off the word for just long enough.

She would save the world. She would make the ultimate sacrifice. But on her own terms. And those included this. And for good reason. There was something worth fighting for.


	2. A Thing of No Importance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://s303.photobucket.com/user/wuehlkuschler/media/Geeks%20Stuff/imp_zpsxisiizrv.jpg.html)  
> 

A Thing of No Importance

A veil of dark clouds blackened the sky over the camp, bleeding le last blue out of it. Melliana knew she should be asleep. But as so often lately, sleep was hard to find. When she approached the fire, she saw Sten standing there already. To her surprise he knelt down as she approached.

“What are you doing?”

He looked at her, now almost eyes to eye, just a shade below her. “I understand that it is the done thing,” he replied.

“Done thing for what?”

“Swearing, fealty, loyalty.”

“You don't have to do that, Sten.” She smiled sadly. "I know that you are honourable and will follow me.”

“It is not for now, kadan.” His violet eyes were stern and serious. “It is for when I return.”

Despite everything, Melliana felt the urge to run her fingertip through the grooves between his braids. “How that?”

“The Qunari will return,” he said. “And they will win that war.”

An invasion. So the rumours were true. The itch in her fingers didn't go away. “And you need a reason not to kill me, should we meet?” It was a cheap cop-out. Looking at him she realised they both knew. “You don't have to go back, you know?”

“It is who I am,” Sten said firmly. “I cannot stay here and be Qunari. I cannot be Sten of the Beresaad if I do not return.”

And what else was there? For him anyway? Nothing. She closed her eyes briefly. “I understand. What is your wish, kadan?”

Maybe throwing that at him now was cruelty. But he took it without flinching. “I wish to swear.”

“You are welcome.” She accepted his eyes that were the only ting reaching out for her.

“Ebasit talan. I will never be katari for you. Meravas.” He didn't blink once as he said it, not did he look away.

It took her some time to untangle any of that. Sten was a prime example for the Qunari reluctance to speak, so language lessons were somewhat out of the question. Still. Katari, somebody who brought death.

“Neither will I, Sten.” She tried to smile. “And know that you will always have a place at my side.”

It was wishful thinking. Because once this was over, they both had their path set for them and the best they could hope for was not to meet each other on the battlefield.

“I know. You are welcome to travel with me, too.”

“And then what?” She put her hands on his shoulders without thinking and let them lie there when they were not shaken off. “Turn you into, what was the word, an Arvaraad?”

“You mock me,” His words were hard.

“No,” she replied. “I don't. I really don't. But I am a mage. And from what you have told me, mages do not get their very own beresaad. Unlike some Grey Wardens.”

“You remember what I was saying.” There was approval in his tone but also a hint of surprise.

“Of course. Did you think I lied when Is aid I was trying to figure you out? I was not.” Melliana sighed. “And so I know that to be who you are, you must return to the Arishok. And to be who I am, I have to rebuild a better Circle of Magi. We are who we are. You were right. We do not chose.”

“And you think this knowledge will please me now?”

“No.” She took a step forwards. “But then it doesn't please me either. Does that make us equal?”

“Perhaps.” Sten reached up, pulling her the last inches against him.

“I am so, so sorry.” She took a ragged breath.

“Asit tal-eb.” The words bounced off her shoulder. “The way it is meant to be.”

Maybe that was a comfort to Sten, but she was not Qunari. That things were meant to be didn't help. Especially when that meant they were supposed to be this painful. And still she would hold on to this just as she held on to him now. It was an unexpected, light-hearted realisation that kneeling down, he was barely a head shorter than her.

Asit tal-eb. He was right. It wasn't all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ebasit talan. – It is truth.  
> Meravas - so it shall be  
> katari – one who brings death  
> Asit tal-eb - The way it is meant to be


	3. Mirror Images

Melliana stepped into the cool night air. For a moment she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of utter relaxation. It was hard to come by this time and the closer they came to having all treaties honoured the more tense she was.

She rolled her shoulder experimentally. There was no resistance, no kinks, just the smooth flow of muscle and bone. She looked around the camp. It was late, but as usual a few of her companions were up. Wynne was on watch duty, Morrigan never seemed to sleep. And then there was Sten, standing at the fire like a statue.

Just a few more words, she told herself. Nothing more. A few words before bed. It wasn't an addiction or anything. And so far the Qunari had not complained either. What was the worst that could happen? That hadn't happened yet? Melliana smiled. No, there was nothing worse than her current situation she could think of.

“What is your wish, kadan?” Sten was never surprised to see her.

Melliana tried to remember what it had been he had said before that. She couldn't. It had not been an expression of friendship. It did not matter. She wondered if another change would ever come to pass.

“Nothing special.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “I was just on my way to bed and saw you standing here and. I wondered what kept you awake.” Now that had been a lot less awkward inside her head.

"You have visited Zevran again." There was no inflection to give a hint of his thoughts.

"I did." Melliana rolled her shoulders. "He kept talking about those massage techniques you only learn in an Antivan whorehouse and they are well worth it. Very relaxing. Maybe you should try it someday."

The Qunari stared at her blankly. "What good would that do?"

"Well, it definitely loosens the tension of your muscles." She stopped herself, barely, from saying there was a lot of those on him. He knew. Fade and demons, he knew. "If you wonder about his self-proclaimed sexual prowess, you will have to find out that on your own."

Sten bristled. "I don't know what would make you suggest such a thing."

It was a mean little stab. But he was so huge and stoic and overall a too tempting target. "Are you not the least bit curious?"

"No."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

The silence was her answer. Melliana turned her head aside, not quite hiding the burgeoning smile.

"You laugh at me."

"No. No, Sten I really am not." Still, the smile would not be denied, it was as persistent as it was soft. "I just didn't think you'd cared."

"I do not."

"Of course you don't." She looked at him. "And that's perfectly fine."

"Good, I do not want there to be any misunderstandings." His tone hadn't changed over the course of the conversation. It kept the same level of calm reservation.

Sometimes Melliana wondered if she was reading things that didn't exist. But remarks like the one about Zevran, they did not make sense without context. If Sten didn't willingly provide it, she had enough wits about her to figure it out on her own. Partly. Sometimes. And whatever the exact meaning of kadan was in her case, it was enough to fall into that category.

* * *

 

"You are worried, kadan." Sten sat down next to her.

"What makes you think that?" She watched the fire, her eyes following the occasional spark flying into the dark blue sky.

"You do not talk."

"I thought you would approve." It was a feeble attempt at lightness.

"I do not. Make of that what you wish."

There were a million things Melliana wanted to make of that. The fact that she didn't feel like trying was telling. It proved Sten right. "Do you have many stories of heroic deeds?"

The change of topic took him a moment to reply. "Yes. But I am not a bard. I will not tell them."

"But you can speak of them, yes?" The image of Sten telling heroic stories did have appeal. But he was Qunari and would not budge. That he had proven time and again.

"I may." It was as much of an admission as she would get.

"There are many stories about heroes in Ferelden, humans, elves, dwarves, it doesn't matter. And the Qunari, too. We all have them."

"Does this serve a point?" Sten asked.

"Possibly." She smiled. "Do you know what many of these have in common?"

"Heroes." Sten took the easy way out. It was obvious even through his stony face and rigid posture.

"That too." She sighed. "And those tend to die, you know."

"So?"

He made her do all the work. And she loved him for it. There was no weaselling out of subjects as she could with Zevran or Alistair. She could straight out drop it. But that left the question why she had brought it up.

"The Hero of Ferelden, that's what they already start calling me. And why not? We are going to defeat an arch-demon. You have seen what fighting a dragon is like."

"We killed it." There was a hint of pride in his voice.

Melliana had to smile. "We did indeed. But it was only a dragon. The arch-demon will be a lot worse. There are stories about it. A heroic fight. A noble fight. The hero dies. I don't want to die, Sten."

"That is a sensible attitude."

"That doesn't help." She pulled up her knees, resting her head on them. "I have little enough time. It's one of the drawbacks of being a Grey Warden. But the time I do have, I want it. I want to see the sky over the mountains, rivers in the plains and the smoke curling up from houses. I want to live, Sten."

"You do." There was a short pause. "Why do you believe you will die in the battle against the arch-demon?"

It was a good question and one she could answer in too many ways. Because she deserved it for all the wrong decisions she had made. Because she would rather die herself than see any of her friends slain. Because her dreams told her so, even if that was the arch-demon himself whispering into her ear. Because that was what it took to slay an arch-demon.

Melliana felt the heat of the fire on her face, the warmth coming from the Qunari at her side. She didn't want to die, she really didn't want to. But the inevitableness of it pressed down on her. Maybe she should just tell him the truth.

"I just know it. Don't ask for the details, please." She buried her face against her knees. "But that it why Grey Wardens exist. That is why we are needed and that is how it works."

"You know you will die." It was partly a question.

She nodded.

"And still here you are, going through with it."

Melliana wished she had heard that amount of approval in his voice before. "Of course. I mean, I don't want to die, but." She had to stop, trying to work at least air around the lump in her throat. "I cannot leave everybody to die because I want to live. I am a Grey Warden. It is my responsibility to stop the Blight. And I really, really want to help if I can."

It was no use. She could feel tears squeezing out of her closed eyes, pressing the lids down was not helping at all. All she could do was ignore the broken sobs interrupting her words. "And I can. I can help. I can stop this and save so many people. I want to do this. But still I don't want to die. There is so much to see and to do out there. But if we don't win, none of it will survive."

Sten did not reply.

She listened to his silence.

If he had said something, anything, she might have gone on, blabbering out her anguish, but the silence hung between them, too precious to shatter. Melliana hugged her ankles tighter, curling up into herself.

It was a mistake as there was nothing for her to do when Sten rose, the cold at her side poignant. And for a moment her mind rose about its own wallowing to wonder about him. Where he had gone and why before falling back into its own pain. It was a selfish thing she allowed herself because there might not be a tomorrow.

Melliana rocked herself back and forth gently, trying to find solace in the movement. If the fire were one to burn down it would have. But this was a camp prepared for war. Still she felt the cold slowly creeping up her back, grasping at her neck and fingers. But it was not enough to move. Nothing felt as if would ever move her again. Not until sunrise when duty would pull her up by the scruff of her neck and send her into the next day.

An unexpected cloak descending over her shoulders was not enough to make Melliana flinch. It was not hers, for that it was way too big. And heavier, stiffer and warm from being worn. She inhaled with closed eyes. Strong hands were tucking the cloak fast around her, enclosing her in a refuge of warmth and comfort.

No, Sten was not one to show open affection. But he did hug her the way he could. Melliana smiled though the crusted tears on her face. And in the warm silence she allowed herself to relax, drift sideways and let sleep claim her.

* * *

 

The huge gateway to Fort Drakon stood ajar and Melliana stared at it with her stomach churning. The noise of war and death came from both sides. This was it. This was the end and all her gambles would come to a head here. She had staked so much on the words of friends. Only time would tell if she had been justified.

Alistair was fidgeting at her side, a partner in crime as guilty as herself. He had yielded. Reluctantly, but in the end he had bowed to her wishes. She had to put her own life on the line before he could be convinced, though. His own death meant nothing to him in service to Ferelden, but hers did. He would not have her blood on his hands. And she would have him on the throne beside Anora, a softening influence of mercy and justice.

Maybe he would hate her. That was an acceptable price for his life. And live he would. Because if somebody slew the arch demon now, it would be her. Her gamble, her risk, her life on the line. She was the more expendable of them. It was her duty, her life, all of it.

Melliana glanced at Sten and Wynne. Innocents in the eyes of a Grey Warden. Ignorant, and thank the maker for that, of her deal with Morrigan. She didn't want to know what Sten would think of it. He approved of her commitment and willingness to sacrifice herself. What would he make of her selfish decision to live?

But maybe it would never come to that. Maybe they would all die. Or some of them would die. Melliana took a determined step through the door. Left to her own devices, she would be the last to walk back out.

Seeing the arch demon, she wished fleetingly to have been the last to enter as well. The dragon was huge. But she was the Hero of Ferelden, or as close as you got. So she would take point and lead the charge to kill the oversized lizard. Enemies poured at them from all sides, distracting them from the main foe. She cast a Lifeward on Sten and set off towards the nearest ballista. This would be a long fight.

And it was. Even with the help of the dwarves who kept their backs free. The arch demon seemed immortal indeed, any damage superficial. She felt her muscles ache, her joints, even her bones were weary of the fight before the dragon finally fell. And then there was only one thing left to do.

Pushing Alistair aside, Melliana ran forward. Her sword caught the arch demon's neck neatly but got stuck. From the corner of her eyes she saw Alistair get back on his feet, Sten fighting the next wave of enemies, Wynne standing a little back, keeping them safe.

Keeping them safe. She hacked at the dragon's throat. That was what it was all about. Keeping everybody safe. Her job, her duty. She closed her eyes as she pushed down hard. Cut of the head, scatter the remaining forces. Keep everybody safe. She could feel the taint light up, burning through her like a vessel of glass.

Her sword came free as it finally cut of the arch demon's head. She fell to her knees, trying to ward of the brightness scorching her with liquid fire. It might have been tears, it might have been blood, it might have been all the oceans of the world. Melliana didn't care; she was drowning one way or another. Adrift in a sea of dead bodies with no shore in sight. And no familiar face. She should have been grateful to find no familiar face in the sea of the dead, but it would have been an island, a place to fall down and hold on to something.

There was nothing to hold on to. Only the roar of the arch demon in her ears and the fire on her skin. She should be dead. _She_ should be dead. What place did she have in the world if she couldn't even save her own friends. If in the face of death, she flinched and failed? Cheated.

It probably didn't matter. She couldn't ask any more. Or she could ask Sten and he would not understand the question. Zevran would certainly congratulate her on the choice of her friends. Comfort from Leliana, gentle advice from Wynne. She had it all.

Melliana looked at her hands clutched around the pommel of her sword. It didn't matter. The battlefield went on forever. It was all battlefields of all times, swimming in the deaths of all the fallen. Cold seeped up through her. Why not join them? She had done her part. Where would she go from here? Melliana smiled. Well, there had been that strange and wild idea. She clasped her arms around her, sinking into the memory of a second hand hug.

She cold still feel it, like hands on her arms and arms around her shoulders. The heavy feeling of cloth soaked with the wear and work of years, now cold and hard like iron. She would have liked to see Seheron. Her cheek slipped against the wet surface pressed against it, cold metal coated in blood. It might even be her own.

“You need rest, kadan.”

She certainly did. And it was easy to slip away into the darkness once the world had stopped bouncing.

* * *

 

The railing was cold under her hands, cold and smooth. Melliana looked out over the ocean. There was nothing but water up to the horizon no matter where she looked. The deck under her swayed gently. It had taken some getting used to.

Not doing anything had also taken some getting used to. There wasn't much work for a mage on a ship. And most of the easy tasks she would have managed were way too lowly for the Hero of Ferelden. She took a deep breath, tasting the salt of the air. She had only ever smelt a sniff of it in Denerim. There was just too much city in between.

But here there was nothing between her ans the water, the sky and the stars at night. Stars that were beginning to look strange. She smiled. Who would have thought that she would ever get to see anything but the waters of Lake Calenhad? And yet here she was. Closing her eyes, she felt the sun on her skin.

Melliana didn't have to open her eyes to know whose steps came to a halt beside her. After a shared moment of silence, she turned to the bulk of warrior beside her. “Tell me,” she said, leaning a little in his direction, “tell me again of Seheron.”

“There is nothing more to tell.”

Melliana smiled. That's what he kept saying. Nothing more to tell, she would have to see with her own eyes. Experience it herself. Tea and incense and the sea. She closed her eyes and tried to smell it already. It might not make up for being a bas saarebas. Nothing might. She would see.

For now it was enough to go. To go and not go alone. And she would be able to just follow for some time. The rocking of the ship filled her with a deep sense of peace.

* * *

“Were you ever afraid it would not work?”

“No.” He stands before her on the docks, the Qunari armour still strange and fitting at the same time. Some days she wondered what happened to the dragon scale armour she had Master Wade make for him. But Melliana knew better than to ask.

“No?”

“It was certain.”

“Maybe.” She would have appreciated the smallest trace of regret in his voice. But he was stoic as ever. “I'm sorry I didn't take better care of you back in Ferelden.”

“Why would you say that?” Sten narrowed his eyes. In his case that was talking volumes.

“Because I am so much work here. Any step I take is a wrong one. I didn't think to be such a burden.”

“You are not a burden.” His hand on her shoulder is reassuring. “And you gave me back my soul when I had lost it.”

That he would still bring that up. But it was important. Ever since she had set on Seheron, Melliana had begun to understand how absolutely vital retrieving Sten's sword had been. It had been a gesture of friendship in Ferelden. A sign and token. In retrospect, it explained a lot.

“There is no place for me in the Qun.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “A woman warrior and mage. I cannot be all of this here. But I cannot be only parts of it either.”

She had tried. But the biggest problem of all, being a free mage, was not one she could solve. Sten could not solve it. No Qunari could solve it without uprooting their whole society. Sten didn't reply. There was nothing for him to say. She put her cheek against his hand on her shoulder.

“I wished I didn't have to go.”

“Ferelden needs you. The Grey Wardens need you.” No inflection. Just the slightest of tremors in his hand.

Yes, Ferelden needed her. Called to her for help across the seas. And who was she to ignore the call of duty? Especially with Sten watching. Melliana smiled. He did not need her. And whatever the other truth was, she did not need him either. They would live their own lives in the lines of duty chosen. And there was satisfaction in doing what was right.

“And they will have it.” The words should have been easier. She straightened up. “And as byproduct, I will make sure your shores are free of darkspawn. They will reach Seheron over my dead body.”

Sten's hand followed her face, his thumb wiping away a tear. “In death, sacrifice.”

Melliana had a quip ready. That she had been hoping more for the vigilance of peace. But that was drowned under all the other words she wanted to say but couldn't. There was no doubt, she loved that stoic hulk of a warrior. And judging from his actions since their arrival in Seheron, there was little that he cared deeply for her as well.

But they did not even share a word for the bond they had. A bond that would stretch across the miles and tug at her with heavy emptiness. But the alternative was to stay and feel the cold taste of being a burden to Sten with every step she made, every breath she took.

“Panahedan, Sten.” She closed her lips tightly after the word, taking his hand from her face and holding it between them. Then she took a deep breath, nodding to herself.

“Panahedan, kadan.”

It was almost impossible to hold together. “Kadan,” she echoed, blinking furiously. Melliana forced a smile onto her face with another nod. Then she turned towards the ship anchored behind her. It was time to go. Not home, but to go nevertheless.

* * *

She missed the smells of Seheron, tea and incense and the sea. She missed the certainty of Sten's bulk at her side. The weight of an old cloak that had long lost the scent of its home was no ersatz. It had never really been. But as consolation, and the only consolation available it had done its job well enough.

So she buried herself in the task at hand. Keeping Amaranthine up and running. Defeating the darkspawn yet again. Saving everybody crossing her path. Nathaniel Howe was a rewarding target for that.

Melliana didn't even know why she had let him go. Maybe because he had been just as lost in a place that should have been his home as she felt. Not that she didn't expect him to stab her in the back a few days later. Or nights, actually. She had been wary.

Instead he had just returned and asked to stay, to help, become a Grey Warden. There had been a lot of shaking heads and doubting remarks about that. But who was she to refuse him? Alone in a place that was not home. Alone among friends who were strangers. She wished, she had been closer to Oghren. But it was too late now.

Why had she done it? Because she had always done it. Yes, certainly. Also because Sten had not understood it and now it reminded her of him. Was being good still being good if you had secondary motives? Melliana didn't know. But Nate was doing great. For him it had been the right choice, regardless of her reasons.

The talking darkspawn was its own mystery. One she was about to unravel. Melliana put her pen down. She did not like being an arlessa. She did not like Vigil's Keep with its high walls of grey stone. She did not like the cold reaching for her despite the blazing fires.

Ferelden smelled of smoke and dampness. The tea cooled down too fast. Incense was to be had in the Chantries alone. A faith she didn't subscribe to any more than to the Elders of the dwarves, the gods of Dalish elves, the Qun.

Maybe that was the problem. That she did not believe. Or at least that she did not believe what was appropriate. Her fingers played with the pen, careful not to smudge the fresh writing. Did she believe in a higher power? Probably. But first and foremost she believed in people. It was their responsibility to make the world a place worth living in.

Naturally, opinions on how that was supposed to look differed. So you got the Qun and Andraste and Fen'harel and the Paragons. Different ways of telling people to get their act together. She wasn't sure if believing that anyway without a higher power standing behind the order was helping or not.

She didn't have somebody to relegate difficult decisions to. She only had her own conscience. And that was a complicated and muddled thing. Melliana looked at the letter before her. Maybe it was treason. Who knew?

And Alistair need never know. Though he was one of the few who might, might!, understand. It was possible that he didn't wholly hate her. And he could have refused any step along the way. Just as she could have refused to save the world. Melliana sighed. Finally she picked up the pen again, adding a few final lines to her letter.

He wasn't just her Sten. He was _the_ Sten, to her, his people, and the arishok. He would make whatever he needed from this. And should they meet in battle... Melliana sealed the letter, pressing down on the hot wax with more force then necessary. Maybe there was no need for a war, not as long as either of them was keeping their own in check.

No, there was no hope. She thought of the her last line. The one certainty sealing each of her letters, sealing each of his as well.

_You know my wish, kadan._


	4. A Good Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Surana is facing the Sloth Demon in her former home, the strain of saving Thedas is more than she can handle.

“I will do better,” the Sloth Demon said.

Yes, please do, Surana wanted to shout. Do better, I beg you. Don't give me Duncan or Weisshaupt. Give me my Circle back, Irving and Jowan. Give me my naive dreams and hopes for studies to come. Give me the certainty that my life is safe an in benign hand. Return the stuttering, sweet Cullen.

Her knees buckled and she covered her face with her hands. What wouldn't she give for the prefect dream. Do better. Have Morrigan be in the Circle with me, witty and sparkling with cynicism. Ready to annoy the senior enchanters, ready to wreak pranks on everybody. Give me Wynne to make everything right afterwards.

Don't let me remember the tormented face of Cullen, admitting no secret but too guilty about it, too contrite. Let him return with the flustered stutter. It might have turned into something. And it would be a perfect dream where love fell where it would be returned. And no blood on her hands and none of the scars on her skin and heart.

Surana wanted nothing more but to give in. Let the world take care of itself. Who was she to mend its wrongs? She belonged in her Circle, surrounded by friends and fellow mages. Make it a good one. Let it be perfect and forever.

She opened her eyes to see Jowan, beckoning her, the smell of Lake Calenhad in the air. Yes, good. Morrigan in Circle robes, strange but perfect and Leliana also turned into a mage. It was a dream, but was a good dream.

Something brought her down. A good dream. The voice echoed in her head. Surana rubbed her eyes. A large hand rested on her shoulder, comforting and urging. A good dream. And what was her wish? She let her be helped her to her feet again. She wanted her perfect dream. A blissful life in her Circle, engulfed in love and wisdom. Happiness.

She turned to the warrior at her side. “Tell Alistair I am sorry. But this is his fight.”

“You mean to stay then?” The voice echoed in the murky air of the Fade.

“I belong here, in the Circle.” She looked around. “Where else can I be happy?”

“It is not what you told me.”

“You belong in Seheron, with your people; the Arishok expects you. Par Vollen.” Surana tilted her head slightly. “Travel safely.”

“It is not right,” Sten insisted.

“I will not remember.”

“But I will.”

Her smile became strained. If this was a dream, could she just reach out and touch his face? “You will remember me?”

“As I must.”

Surana looked to the Sloth Demon, the promise of everything she ever dreamt of and back to the Qunari. There was no promise in his purple eyes, no bliss in the hard line of his mouth.

Then remember me, remember me as I was, who I was before, before this. A hopeless plea. Her hand tightened around the staff in it. Remember me. For what I could have been, for what I wanted to be. A good dream. She ran her free hand over her eyes, turning back to the demon.

“Please,” her voice wavered. “Make it a good one.”

She heard the gasps behind her with closed eyes, holding out her staff. “Make it the best. Because it will be your last.”

Sten didn't voice approval. He would not insult her with the notion that doing the right thing was a difficult decision. Maybe, since this was the Fade, she should have touched his face after all. Just because. And since she was already dreaming with her eyes wide open and magic bristling from her staff, why not have it the other way round. A hand on her face, just long enough to wipe away the tears.


End file.
